Elena's POV
The pregnancy test slips from my fingers and clatters into the sink.
Two pink lines. Clear as day. Undeniable.
I'm pregnant.
My hands shake as I grip the cold porcelain, looking at those lines like they might rearrange themselves into something different. Seven years of marriage. Seven years of trying. Seven years of Adrian saying "not yet" or "let's wait" or simply changing the subject.
And now, on our anniversary morning, I'm holding proof that everything might finally change.
I press my palm against my still-flat stomach, tears burning my eyes. This baby could fix us. Adrian will have to see me now. Really see me. Not the invisible woman who keeps his house going and raises his son from another relationship—Liam, who he adopted as a baby—but Elena. His wife. The mother of his child.
"Mom!" Liam's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Where's my blue tablet? The one Miss Winters gave me?"
Miss Winters. Always Miss Winters.
I splash water on my face and hide the test in my robe pocket. Tonight. I'll tell Adrian tonight, after our anniversary dinner. When he sees how much work I've put into today, when he remembers what we used to be, I'll share our news. Our miracle.
I find Liam in the living room, his six-year-old face scrunched in focus as he scrolls through the expensive tablet Adrian's assistant gave him last month. Not me. Her.
"Sweetie, it's on the coffee table." I kiss the top of his dark hair—Adrian's hair. He barely notices. "How about we make Daddy's favorite cake together? For the anniversary?"
Liam doesn't look up. "Miss Winters is taking me and Daddy to that new pizza place today. She already told me."
The words hit like a slap. "What?"
"For lunch. She said Daddy works too hard and needs a break." Now he looks at me, his amber eyes—my eyes, the only thing he got from me—confused by my face. "You knew that, right?"
No. I didn't know that.
I didn't know my husband planned to spend our anniversary lunch with his helper and my son, cutting me out like I'm the stranger in this family.
"Of course," I lie, faking a smile that tastes like poison. "I forgot. You two have fun."
I flee to the kitchen before Liam can see my hands shaking. The cake fixings are already laid out on the counter. Flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla—Adrian's favorite chocolate raspberry cake that takes three hours to make correctly. I'd planned to surprise him at his office, the way I used to when we were dating and he'd light up at seeing me.
When was the last time Adrian lit up at seeing me?
I can't remember.
My phone buzzes. A text from Grace, my best friend: Happy anniversary! Tell me Adrian actually remembered this year and planned something amazing.
I stare at the message, my vision blurry. Grace never liked Adrian. She warned me seven years ago that he wanted a wife for show, not for love. I'd called her jealous. Mean. Wrong.
Maybe she was right all along.
I should bake this cake anyway. Prove I'm a good wife. Prove I deserve to be here. But my feet take me toward Adrian's private study instead, the room he keeps locked when he's not home. The room I'm not supposed to enter.
Today, I don't care about supposed to.
The door opens easily—he forgot to lock it this morning in his rush to work. Or maybe he doesn't think I'd ever dare to look. The study is neat and organized, so unlike the rest of our warm, lived-in house. Everything here is cold. Professional. Like Adrian himself.
I shouldn't snoop. Good women don't snoop.
But good wives also don't get cut out of anniversary plans with their own kids.
His desk drawer isn't locked either. Inside, I find folders sorted by label. "Kane Industries Contracts." "Property Documents." "Legal Correspondence."
And one that makes my blood freeze: "Personal - Private."
I open it with shaky hands.
The first paper is a will. Adrian's will, changed three months ago. I scan the pages, looking for my name, for proof that I matter in his plans, in his future, in his life at all.
There. Section 4: Spousal Inheritance. "In the event of my death, my wife Elena Kane shall receive the minimum amount needed by law, in accordance with prenuptial agreement clause 7B. Primary estate, including all business assets and properties, shall move to my son Liam Kane, held in trust until age 25."
Minimum amount. Required by law.
Like I'm a legal duty. A tick on his life's to-do list.
My vision tunnels as I flip through more papers. Boarding school ads for Liam—schools in Switzerland, far away from me. An email conversation with his lawyer about "restructuring family assets for optimal tax benefits post-separation."
Post-separation.
The words swim on the page. He's going to leave me. Or worse—planning for me to leave with nothing.
Then I see it. The final knife in my barely-beating heart.
A jewelry ticket, dated two weeks ago. A handmade diamond bracelet from Cartier. Twenty thousand dollars.
The same bracelet I'd admired in a magazine, showing Adrian, asking if maybe for our anniversary— "Too expensive," he'd said, barely looking up from his phone. "We need to be practical, Elena."
Practical for me. But not for whoever got this bracelet.
My hands move without permission, looking deeper in the drawer. There—a small card, hidden behind the receipt. Cream-colored, elegant, with lettering I don't recognize: "Adrian, thank you for always knowing exactly what I need. Last night was perfect. —V" V. Vivian Winters.
Last night. Last night, Adrian came home at midnight, claiming a late investment meeting. Last night, while I waited up with his favorite whiskey poured, my seven-year wedding gift wrapped in silver paper. Last night, when he walked past me to his study without a word.
The pregnancy test in my pocket suddenly feels like a lead weight.
I'm carrying his baby. And he's getting jewelry for another woman.
The front door slams. "Elena?" Adrian's voice, annoyed already. "Why isn't Liam ready? Vivian's waiting in the car."
Vivian's in the car. Outside our house. On our anniversary.
I walk to the living room on legs that don't feel connected to my body. Adrian's in his designer suit, checking his Rolex—the watch I gave him for his birthday last year, back when I still thought gifts mattered.
"Liam, grab your shoes," he says, then finally looks at me. Really looks at me. His gray eyes narrow. "Why are you dressed up? You're not coming with us."
Not a question. A statement.
"It's our anniversary," I say.
Adrian's face goes blank. Genuinely blank. He forgot. He actually forgot.
"Right." He straightens his tie. "We'll do something this weekend. Maybe."
"Adrian—"
"Elena, I don't have time for this. Liam, let's go!"
My son runs past me like I'm invisible, taking his tablet, heading for the door where Miss Vivian Winters waits. The woman wearing my band. The woman who had a "perfect" night with my husband.
They're almost out the door when I find my voice.
"I'm pregnant."
The words burst into the silence like a bomb.
Adrian freezes. Liam's hand is on the doorknob. Through the open door, I can see Vivian in Adrian's car, blonde and beautiful and everything I'm not.
Adrian turns slowly. His look isn't joy. It isn't surprise. It isn't love.
It's stuck.
"We'll discuss this later." His voice is ice. "Liam, car. Now."
And then they're gone. The door slams. The engine starts. They drive away.
I stand in my own home, pregnant with my husband's baby, watching him take our son on a date with another woman on our anniversary.
The cake fixings sit on the counter, waiting.
I walk past them to Adrian's study. To that folder of papers and receipts and plans that exclude me. To the proof of exactly how little I've ever mattered.
My phone is in my hand before I know I've grabbed it. Grace's message is still on the screen, waiting for my answer about Adrian's "amazing" anniversary plans.
I scroll past it to another contact. One I haven't called in seven years. One I swore I'd never need again.
Marcus Sterling. Corporate attorney. My mentor from before I met Adrian, before I gave up my job and my dreams and my self for a man who was giving my bracelet to someone else.
The phone rings once. Twice.
"Elena?" Marcus's voice is shocked. "I haven't heard from you in—"
"I need a divorce lawyer," I say, my voice steady as steel. "The best one you know. And Marcus?" I stare at the prenup rule that gives me nothing, at the boarding school plans, at the receipt for a gift I'll never receive. "I need to know how to destroy someone who thinks I'm powerless."
"Elena, what happened?"
I touch my stomach, where my baby grows. My baby, who deserves a mother strong enough to fight. Who deserves better than watching me disappear into nothing.
"I stopped being invisible," I whisper. "And now it's time for everyone else to see what they missed."
I hang up before he can reply.
Through the window, I watch Adrian's car turn the corner, disappearing toward whatever life he's making without me.
He has no idea that the wife he forgot exists is about to become the only thing he'll remember.